Clato Word Association OneShots
by AnnaRinzler
Summary: Set from the moment Clove and Cato face each other and shake hands at The Reaping. Clato one-shots; stays true to the book and film. Suggest a word and a  genre and I'll write a one-shot about it!
1. Reaping

**Word Association Drabbles: Reaping**

It was so very, very complicated how the tributes from District 2 were chosen. There were formulas and recommendations and blood tests and physical evaluations enough to make the head spin. In school they had learned about the basics of the selection process; training for the Games may have been illegal but volunteering certainly wasn't. There were so many volunteers from District 2 that they filled an entire stadium every year with their nervous, fidgety bodies, so unused to sitting still. They were packed in the front of the District meeting hall and forced to wait for the official announcement on the Reaping Day.

The boys were twice her size and the girls twice as fast. She was sure she'd never get chosen. Perhaps next year, or the next, or the next. Three more chances after this one. Three more chances to show the judges what she was made of. To be noticed. Clove sat stiffly in her forest-green dress and bit her lip, glancing to her left and right at the other fifteen-year-old volunteers. They were friends up until now, when each one perched eagerly at the edge of her chair and stared up at the stage for the official results to be announced. They refused to look at each other. Each one willed her name into the hands of the bright and smiling escort, who held the winning paper aloft like a trophy. The green-haired woman said something Clove didn't hear and didn't care to hear, about history and precedent and judges choosing volunteers, and then—

She was onstage, waving to the crowd, before she even knew what had happened. The roar of approval from the audience was almost deafening, as it was every year. The judges of the volunteers picked well, they always did, and this year they had picked her. Clove could see the faces of the other girls in the crowd. Some were sad, some were shocked, and some were envious. She smirked to herself some more and only turned to face the male tribute when their escort said something about congratulating the other. When Clove stuck out her hand she found it engulfed. A pair of dazzling blue eyes met hers and she nodded up at the much-taller boy. What was the escort saying, over the cheers of the crowd? _Cato. _That was his name. He was blond and muscular and solemn-looking. She sized him up and knew that he could keep her alive in the Arena; that he would be her only hope of winning. Cato was rather good-looking. When they stopped shaking hands he gave her a small smile that she easily mirrored.

Too bad he had to die.

**Author's Note: I am making a series of Clato-themed one-shots, mostly because I hate the way the movie seemed into Glato. Sorry Glato fans! I am not going to do a full-length story with this one, simply because I don't feel like I have enough background or feel for the characters to do it. I'll be doing one-shots in chronological order leading up to Cato's eventual demise, and each one-shot will have a one-word prompt attached. If you'd like me to do a specific one-shot, feel free to write this story a review and give one word that you want your one-shot to revolve around, along with the genre you want it to be. For example, you could give "Knives" as the one word and "Action/Adventure" as the genre.**


	2. Carpet

**Carpet**

The roar of the crowd seemed like it would never die down. For a few moments he felt immortal and elated and removed all at once, as if he were watching the scene around him from a far-off place. Cato flashed the crowd a smile and threw a fist in the air as he looked around from his place on the stage. The impossibly loud noise got even louder and his escort, the woman with green hair, good-naturedly shook her head and began shooing him toward the back of the stadium so that the crowd would settle down. He did as he was directed and walked to the mahogany door that so many other tributes from District 2 had passed through only to walk back out later as Victors. He could do it, Cato thought, as he followed the train of personnel and Peacekeepers as they walked through the dark stone hallway of the District Two stadium. They left the cacophony of the cheering crowd far behind, though it took ages for the echo to cease completely.

When the little group of people reached a set of double doors, a pair of waiting peacekeepers opened them and revealed a receiving room that was so extravagantly decorated it caused Cato to unconsciously raise his eyebrows and pause at the entrance. The large stone room had a massive chandelier hanging in the center of its ceiling. Stained glass decorated the windows and there were ornate etchings lining the walls. Well-dressed men and women already milled about a large, round table that was heaped with a variety of delicate-looking food. He recognized at least one past victor and several of the volunteer judges who were standing around and speaking quietly to each other. Cato was out of his element. At the training academy they never starved or went without anything they needed, but all of this luxury in one room was overwhelming to the senses, especially while he was in the heady daze of being chosen as a tribute.

"Come along," their green-haired escort said gently, placing a hand on his back and pushing him lightly forward before she ran ahead to chatter to the nearest volunteer judge.

Cato uncertainly walked into the room and looked down as his feet sank into what felt like a yard of thick, soft carpet the color of fresh blood. Glancing to his left, he saw…what was her name, _Clove_, staring downward with a befuddled look on her face. She picked up one foot and then the other, mincing in place as the carpet swallowed her black high heels and her uncertain gaze flickered around the room. Clove finally looked up and smirked at him. Cato let out the breath that he didn't know he'd been holding. It was going to be alright.

**Author's Note: This prompt was requested by RageLikeRipred! If you would like me to write a one-shot for you, send me a review with a one-word prompt and the genre you would like the one-shot to be.**


	3. Forever

**Forever**

"_Cato! Cato!" _

He woke up in a cold sweat. It was the middle of the night, or at least it was in the arena. He couldn't be sure what time of day it was out in the real world; the game makers could change the position of the artificial sun and moon with the push of a button. He stared up at the night sky and shivered. The bed of leaves he had made for himself rustled slightly and Cato brushed a searching hand out beside him without a thought. Pain stabbed his chest and he curled his fingers back.

Of course she wasn't beside him. She was dead. Wiping at the salty tear tracks on his face, Cato sat up and leaned against the broad trunk of the tree he'd taken shelter under and closed his eyes. He could hear himself breathing in the silence. His breath sounded too much like Clove's did at the end, shallow and ragged. He'd held her in his arms, and the breath had gone out of her and she was finally still. He didn't cry until after, after she was gone and he'd choked out how sorry he was, how sorry that he hadn't been close enough. Cato had barreled toward the Cornucopia so fast when Clove called that his legs were still burning hours later.

But he hadn't gotten there in time. Killing Thresh hadn't brought him any sense of satisfaction. He hoped, more than he hoped he got out of the Arena, that Clove had heard him at the last. That she'd heard how sorry he was, and how much he was going to miss her. How, if he could do it all over again, he would save her when she screamed. But he hadn't. Cato felt numb. Even if he made it out, even if he was crowned victor and swam away in a pool of the other Tributes' blood, it wouldn't matter.

The sound of Clove screaming would haunt him forever.


End file.
